The Bigtime
Before reading please listen to the theme song:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6jCJZEFIto The Ringer in: Bigtime (Part One) It wasn’t hard to let the old days go. Cynical thinking and a pack of Pall Malls pretty much gets rid of any pain that might linger after a rapid change. It was easy for me, harder on most. I made my dollar on those who had it harder. Jobs were easy to come by these days. The U.S. and the Leader-Kin made that task as simple as pouring a shot. There were always new clients darkening my doorstep, and I’ve heard all of the stories. Then, one day, he showed up. I was sitting in my office, letting the sunlight creep in from the closed blinds and trying to nurse a hangover from the night prior. No, I’m not the type to go to a bar or club just to get my fix. Most nights are filled with me and Wild Turkey going over case files and trying to piece the problems together in a way in which the solution doesn’t get me killed. It’s hard work, the not dying part. As I sat there smoking a drag I heard a knock. Not a dainty knock, like from a skirt or limp wrist, but a playful knock, like the kind of person who doesn’t take things seriously. “Come in,” I said as I removed my feet from their propped position on the desk. I didn’t put out my cigarrette because, well, this was my damn office. The door opened and he came through. Nice white coat, no tie, pressed white pants, and a grin that could make a violin snap a string. He was from money. Hell, by the smell of him, he was money. I shifted slightly farther down in my seat. ‘Here we go again, Elihu. Another rich money grubber who thinks his girl is turning trick on him,’ I thought as I took another drag and offered a seat with a gesture. “Don’t mind if I do.” He sat, crossed his legs, and began to look around the office. “Quaint. Kind of stereotype, but it sets the mood.” His grin widened as his gaze fixed on me. “Where are my manners? My name is Miles, Miles Kalivas.” He stretched his arm across the desk. I smirked and returned the gesture. “Elihu Ballentine. What can I do for you Mr. Kalivas?” We shook hands and returned to our seats, Miles wafting away the smoke filling the room. “Well first you can put that cigarette out. Bad for a man’s health, you know.” I ignored the snotty request and took a longer drag just to spite him. When he realized that the cig wasn’t getting snuffed, he frowned a bit, then casually blew it off and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers and placing them on his lap. “I have a problem Mr. Ballentine, a serious problem. I was hoping your services would be able to help me with my problem.” He leaned forward. “You do handle problems, don’t you, Mr. Ballentine?” “All kinds, Mr. Kalivas, all kinds.” I snuffed my cig. I could tell by this guy’s smirk that it wasn’t a typical skirt job. This guy had power, and lots of it. “Give me the details and I’ll see what I can do. “ “Wonderful. I had a feeling about you Mr. Ballentine. I had a feeling.” He relaxed and began to wave his finger around to further emphasize his discovery. “Well, it’s like this. There’s this new pusher in town, see. He slowly started to muscle in on my business and up until now it hasn't been a problem, see.” He was mocking me, using old mob lingo to fit the situation, like I was some bad black and white movie type. I let it slide. No sense in getting flustered over little things, especially since this guy looked like the type willing to pay big. Money over principal, I always say. “What exactly happened, Mr. Kalivas?” I lit up another cig and leaned back for the story. It was always like this. First you get the rundown, and then you get the sob story. Steps to live by, or rather, have no choice but to suffer through. “One of my fighters ended up with a knife in his back. Not dead mind you, just ain’t gonna be fighting any time soon. That eats into my profits, and if there is one thing I can’t stand, it's taking a hit in profit, Mr. Ballentine. It just won’t do.“ His eye twitched slightly as he spoke. This was his weak spot…money. Can’t say I blame the guy, though. Money is mine as well, but to this guy, it was everything. “Let me guess. You want me to find who's shanking your boys and put a stop to his pushes.” I paused and took a long drag. I stared him straight in the eyes, judging his reaction. “Am I right so far?” He slicked his hair back. “Right on all counts, save one…” His hyena grin returned. “I wanna be there when you take him down.” His face said two things. His mouth, joy at destroying another, and his eyes spoke only determination. This was not a man to get on the wrong side of. I steadied myself. “What are we talking about payment wise, Mr. Kalivas?” No sooner than the words left my mouth, he threw a stack of five thousand big ones on my desk. My eyes shifted to the wad, but I didn’t let the excitement take my cool away. “Five thousand now and another when the job is complete. How does that sound, Mr. Ballentine?” He was money, and money was him. I could tell by the way he threw it down that cash was not a problem. It was just another object. It was the most important object, but an object none the less. “You track him to where he’s holed up, rough up anyone you can on the way to finding that hideout, and in the end you leave him to me. Now…” He leaned forward again and offered his hand. “Do we have a deal, Mr. Ballentine?” I looked at his hand for what seemed like eternity. Who was this man? What was I getting myself into? Questions poured like Bourbon in a drunk’s rotten mouth, but I needed this. This was my chance to get the big payout. This was my chance to get to the top, to get noticed. This was it and there was no looking back. I shook his hand and smiled a little myself. “Deal.” If I had known then what I know now, I would have thrown him out the window. 'Characters involved: Loadsamoney, The Ringer ' Category:Fiction Category:Noir